


those who travel may be lost (and may be found again)

by vulcankin



Category: The X-Files, Twin Peaks
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:29:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4702724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulcankin/pseuds/vulcankin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The many times Special Agent Fox Mulder encountered Special Agent Dale Cooper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting a fic online and the only reason I'm doing it is because apparently no fics exist of these two. (Which is sad because dorky FBI boyfriends is my otp and they don't get enough love...!) My writing's a bit rusty, so hopefully this little pet project will get me back on track!
> 
> Thanks for reading and leave a comment if you want!

The first time Fox Mulder saw Special Agent Dale Cooper was, unsurprisingly, at FBI Headquarters in DC. 

Their meeting wasn’t anything particularly special, memorable only in that the day was so very mundane compared to the enigmatic personality he was confronted with. It was on a rare trip out of the bowels of the basement to receive more paper for the printer. On his way to the requisitions desk, Mulder was startled out of his intense concentration on the latest profiling case he had been given by a loud exclamation from across the room. Whoever was shouting was apparently very impressed by the quality of coffee they kept in the offices. In his personal opinion, the brew left a lot to be desired, but hey. To each their own he supposed. After a few more moments skimming through his case file, he reached for a pen. Before Mulder could even think about signing for his computer paper, however, he was addressed (again rather loudly) by the same voice from before.

“Hello, you must be Agent Mulder! I’m Agent Cooper. Dale Cooper. A pleasure to meet you.”

Mulder jumped, slightly startled, before turning around to face the stranger behind him. Cooper had slicked black hair, a black suit, a crisp tie and a cup of steaming coffee in his hand, altogether much like any other agent in the bureau. However, unlike the others here on an early Sunday morning, this particular agent was smiling widely, seemingly happy to be at work this early. Agent Cooper held out his other hand, revealing a second cup of coffee that he held out in his direction. Confused but grateful, Mulder accepted the offering. He brought the mug up to his lips and took a small sip of the steaming liquid.

“Nothing better than a cup of hot black coffee, right?”

Cooper was still smiling happily as he brought his hand back to curl around the white mug with its brother. Mulder made a noncommittal noise. The other didn’t seem to notice and merely continued on with the one-sided conversation as Mulder silently contemplated the man in front of him, naturally in his work-focused state of mind attempting to profile him. Relaxed stance, open body language. Friendly enough towards strangers and seemingly casual but there was something about his stance that was evident in any FBI agent. He could fight if need be. Highly intelligent, if the look in his eyes was anything to go by. Tape recorder in his right hip pocket; probably a field agent. 

“…so I’m sorry, but you understand why I have to take your case over, right?”

Mulder blinked as he tuned back in to the apparent conversation, lost. 

“…What.”

Cooper seemed a little put out for a moment, his expression fading, before blooming again with full force. 

“Like I said, I’ve been covering cases with many similarities to the one you’ve been given. I was shipped out here to take it over. I already cleared it with Assistant Director Skinner. No hard feelings?”

Again, a hand was extended in Mulder’s direction. Reluctantly, Mulder placed the folder he had spent the last two days pouring over (apparently now for no reason) into the upturned palm. He hated giving up cases, especially one as intriguing as the Lysander case. In fact, he had almost been tempted to request it be considered a part of the X Files division due to various abnormalities evident in the crime. But it wouldn’t do to argue the point. Not when Skinner was staring him down from across the room over Cooper’s shoulder, gaze promising vindication if he were to refuse. He did, however, make sure to look as displeased as possible as he did so, blandly staring directly into Cooper’s eyes.

“…Right. No hard feelings.”

Again, his less than stellar response didn’t seem to faze the other agent in the slightest, and Cooper merely gave him a two-fingered salute before walking off. 

“It was a pleasure to meet you Agent Mulder! Maybe we’ll cross paths again.”

Mulder inexplicably found himself hoping they would.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter ended up a lot longer than the first one, my apologies. This is roughly the length they'll all be from here on out. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!

The second time Fox Mulder saw Agent Cooper he was tired, sweaty and covered in a thin layer of blood and dirt.

The dingy lights of yet another roadside diner flickered just this side of painfully overhead, but rather than be annoyed, Mulder simply accepted it as a physical representation of his current negative mood. Even the sweet scent of his sugar-and-cream-laden coffee couldn’t boost his spirits. He lifted the mug and took a long sip, wrinkling his nose at the flavor and sighing as he set it back upon the lacquered table. Slightly burnt, too watered down. Nothing today had gone well, so he shouldn’t have expected any respite over dinner. Or breakfast. Or whatever you called a meal taken at two in the morning. 

A plate of what had once been the “Super Sunday Special” was off to the side of the table, half eaten and mangled beyond recognition. In their previous place in front of him were instead a wide array of napkins, each imbued with a small half-hearted drawing. On one was a semi-detailed sketch of two possible U.F.O. designs; on another was a doodle of bigfoot playing jump-rope with an alien and the flatwoods monster. Mulder stared for a moment at the scattered drawings before huffing loudly and sweeping them off the table in disgust. They were just reminding him of today’s case. Another hoax in a long line of hoaxes that had pervaded his work over the last month and a half.

He had been called out to another tiny town in the middle of absolute nowhere on a highly detailed police report and a lot of local paranoia. This time was a supposed vampire taking refuge in the local abandoned mineshaft, of which each town in the immediate area seemed to have at least one. Instead, what had greeted him was a string of gruesome murders not at all related to the paranormal. Where the police had mentioned “two small marks on each victims’ neck” there were instead two large gashes through the jugular vein of each poor young woman. Their bodies had been exsanguinated, but not completely and not at all through the marks left behind. Instead, the killer had cut another opening across the abdomens of the women while they were suspended from some height, allowing the red liquid to drip from their bodies into various containers. As such, there was an easily followed trail into the mineshaft. In all honesty, the FBI shouldn’t have even been contacted aside from a report after the case had been solved. However, due to the superstitions of the local population (including the police) no one was willing to enter the area. 

Which is what lead to him crawling around in the dark to confront a half-crazed Elizabeth Bathory enthusiast anointing her naked body with buckets full of half-congealed blood. The actual arrest only took a matter of minutes, but the situation had taken its toll on his energy none the less. Mulder’s shoulder twinged and he winced, rolling it back. Plus, the old woman did seem to truly believe she was a vampiric entity, and had the canines to back up her claim. The bitemark she had left on him probably wouldn’t face any time soon.  
Mulder had just risen from his seat to pay the poor cashier that he was sure had almost had a heart attack at his appearance when a vaguely familiar voice echoed across the restaurant. 

“Agent Mulder!”

He turned to face the person who had called his name and was slightly surprised to see another agent walking steadily towards him. When they were close enough, the other reached out and clapped Mulder’s shoulder fairly roughly, causing him to lose his balance in his exhausted state. Luckily, his reflexes were still functioning, and he managed to prevent an embarrassing accident by catching himself on the back of the booth seat. The smile that had stretched across Agent Cooper’s face crumbled and he reached out again, this time to help Mulder steady himself as he stood. Mulder noticed Cooper’s eyes trailing along his body, lingering at the streaks of blood across his chest in particular. Cooper’s brows furrowed and Mulder suddenly found his gaze locked with the other man’s.

“Are you alright, Agent Mulder? Do you need medical attention?”

Agent Cooper was suddenly dead serious, and the sudden change in behavior threw Mulder off for a moment. Despite the other agent’s parting words to him, Mulder had never actually expected to see Cooper again except perhaps in passing.

“...Uh, no. No. It’s not mine.”

Mulder pressed against his own chest roughly with his fingertips, shrugging slightly to show that he wasn’t causing himself any pain. In reality, he probably did need medical attention. Just not for whatever reason Cooper seemed to think. And Mulder wasn’t going to the doctor, not tonight and not any time in the near future. Not if he could help it. 

“I had a messy case. Just left to head back home.”

Cooper’s entire body seemed to relax after the reassurance, and he hummed in acknowledgement. He pulled his hand back from its place on Mulder’s shoulder. Cooper cast a glance at the empty booth and smiled a bit.

“May I sit down?”

Despite how rude it may have been, a refusal was on the tip of Mulder’s tongue. He was tired, he felt gross and he had already been sitting at the diner for a minimum of two hours. The place was practically empty, so he wasn’t wary of taking space away from other customers exactly. But he was sure the workers were getting tired of seeing his blood-covered self. Not to mention all he wanted to do was check into the little motel down the road, take a nice long hot shower and fall into unconsciousness for the rest of the night. He opened his mouth to turn the other down and was surprised and slightly dismayed to hear an affirmation slip out instead. Cooper, however, seemed delighted, and neatly took his spot on the opposite side of the booth. Mulder sank back into his seat, resigning himself to another hour or so in his sticky clothing. 

A waitress quickly walked over, placing a menu in front of Cooper with one hand while gathering the abandoned plate with another. She shot a confused glance at Mulder who simply shrugged apologetically in response. Before she could respond, an excited “ah!” from Cooper drew both of their attention. He seemed to have made his decision quickly, and Mulder listened with a morbid sense of fascination as the other ordered four plates of pie “dripping with vanilla bean ice cream” (one of each flavor served in the small diner- this was a man after his own heart) and:

“…a cup of your strongest coffee. Black.”

Cooper offered a smile to the waitress and turned back to face him, apparently about to resume whatever conversational topic he was going to present earlier before becoming distracted by his state of dress. However, before even a single word came from the other’s mouth, Cooper seemed to become even more distressed than he had when he believed Mulder was injured. Mulder looked around, slightly worried. Was there a wanted killer in the vicinity? Was something wrong with the other agent himself? After giving Cooper a slight once over, Mulder couldn’t visibly see anything wrong with him, but that didn’t always mean anything. Cooper’s eyes were locked onto the cup still sitting in front of him, still half-full of cream laden coffee. What was his issue?

“What?”

Cooper seemed to snap out of his mini trance and exhaled loudly. He turned back to the waitress without answering.

“Actually, make that two cups. Thank you.”

Mulder was lost, as he so far seemed to be whenever Agent Cooper was involved. People called him quirky, but this guy was on a whole other level entirely. He could barely keep up with the shifts in conversation and mood, which was impressive seeing as his own were erratic at best. Plus, given who Mulder’s friends were, you’d think he’d be used to this kind of behavior. Coming from anyone but the Gunmen, though, it seemed infinitely stranger. Was this how people in the office felt when working with him? No wonder he was ushered off into the basement alone. Despite the oddity though, Agent Cooper seemed like a decent enough man. Certainly more entertaining and engaging than most other agents Mulder had encountered during his time at the bureau. 

“What brings you out here to the snow-covered forests of the Midwest, Agent Cooper?”

He reached out to raise the now lukewarm coffee to his lips, noticing a flicker of disgust pass over Cooper’s face as he did so. Seriously, what was wrong? Cooper obviously didn’t have an issue with coffee itself, seeing how he ordered two cups of the stuff. Maybe he was one of those men who had to have their coffee hot? Mulder himself wasn’t particularly picky. As long as it had caffeine, he’d probably put it in his body.

“Just Cooper would be alright.”

“Cooper, then. Are you here for work or pleasure?”

Cooper shifted his attention from the cup in Mulder’s hand to fix on his face. A wry grin was leveled Mulder’s way and he couldn’t help but return the expression, though less strongly. There was something compelling about the other man, something that resonated with Mulder on a deeper level than a stranger should have the right to. He couldn’t help but harbor the ridiculous notion that they were two of a kind. The waitress silently placed two cups of coffee in front of Cooper and walked off quickly, most likely to retrieve the pies.

“Who says it can’t be both? I think of my job as a form of pleasure most of the time, Agent Mulder.”

He interrupted.

“Just Mulder. We have to be on equal ground or this acquaintanceship isn’t going to work out.”

Cooper paused in his action of drinking to smile warmly, toasting the air gently. A drop of coffee splashed over the edge and hit the table.

“Mulder.”

Mulder nodded, satisfied. Cooper continued his earlier line of speech, only taking a moment to nod a polite thank you at the waitress, who had returned with an arm’s length of plates.

“But to specify, I’m here on a case. Can’t share any details right now, but it involves a young man and a whole bunch of barrels.”

He watched as Cooper neatly unwrapped his silverware and placed the napkin in his lap. Once he seemed satisfied with his set up, Cooper clapped his hands and rubbed them together, looking over his selections. Mulder noted that all of the pies were some sort of fruit, and each was laden with a healthy amount of whipped cream and paired with a large scoop of vanilla ice cream. He almost regretted not getting some for himself; he was a very big fan of pie. As it was, the man across from him hesitated for a moment, his fork dangling in midair over the array of plates before spearing a bite of cherry pie. The food was brought carefully up to his mouth and neatly eaten. What Mulder could only describe as a hum of bliss was the result. 

“…This is some of the best pie I’ve ever eaten. Excuse me for a moment.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Mulder agreed, and Cooper dug one hand into his pocket, retrieving a small black tape recorder. He vaguely remembered seeing that tape recorder at their first meeting. The play button was pressed down with a soft click. 

“Diane, make a note. The Peacock Bistro in South Dakota. Wonderful cherry pie and a fine cup of joe. The apple and pumpkin pies don’t look too shabby either.”

After his recorder was tucked safely away, Cooper placed his hand on the edge of one of the plates and pushed it towards the center of the table. Mulder raised an eyebrow in question.

“I’m not that fond of key lime pie.”

A noise of indignation tried and failed to work its way out of Mulder’s throat. Not liking key lime pie? He must have been mistaken earlier, thinking they were similar in any way. Key lime pie was the one thing that might convince him of the existence of a divine figure. He reached out and pulled the plate closer to himself almost embarrassingly protectively.

“Then you won’t mind if I eat it.”

Without waiting for confirmation, Mulder plucked the other’s spoon from across the table and began to eat. The pie was delicious, and Cooper was missing out. It was just the right balance of sweet and tart and Mulder could probably die happy in this very moment. A hum to rival the one that Cooper had uttered earlier escaped him. He glanced at the other agent’s face, partially worried he had offended him, but still partially defensively. Luckily, Cooper seemed more pleased than anything, and in fact wasn’t even paying Mulder any attention. It was all focused on the pie. Mulder didn’t blame him. Eventually, when there was no more pie, conversation took its place. Mulder lost track of time as the two swapped stories of cases long solved and quizzed each other on the best course of action in different situations. 

By the time Mulder left the diner the sun was rising over the horizon and he’d only had time to grab a quick nap before heading home, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.


End file.
